


Stowaways

by MahinaIRL



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Family, Fluff and Crack, Gen, may the farce be with you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22029763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahinaIRL/pseuds/MahinaIRL
Summary: “You’re the Organa girl." Han realized, stunned. "Your face is plastered all over the holonet. Aren’t you supposed to be arrested?”The girl scowled. “I am under no valid warrant," she declared. “My people are being attacked. The rightful rulers of Alderaan have been unjustly detained by the Empire. You must take me to seek asylum with the Rebellion.”Chewie yowled.“Fuck,” Han agreed.(OR: The many times Han Solo found something he didn't expect in his smuggling compartments.)
Relationships: Chewbacca & Han Solo, Han Solo & Darth Vader, Han Solo & Everyone, Leia Organa & Han Solo, Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Han Solo
Comments: 22
Kudos: 99
Collections: 2019 Star Wars Secret Santa





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zoryany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoryany/gifts).



> For Starry, from your Secret Santa. I tried to write you a family adventure with some good ol’ Original Trilogy angst. The fic...well...hmmmmm...went a bit sideways. I hope a farce is fine too.

Han was unhappy, bored and very very nervous. His latest job had been a cockup from the start. When Han advertised his “discreet transportation services” that usually pretty clearly meant “drug running.” Not crime scene handoffs on one of the most secure, squeaky clean core worlds in the galaxy. Yet here he was sitting hot on a space pad in Aldera loaded up with a million credit moss...thing…in what had to be the slowest getaway in art heist history.

Han didn’t know how Jabba planned to keep his overpriced moss alive on a desert planet, but that wasn’t his problem. No, Han was more worried that the painting would be DOA, and he and Chewie would get the blame. Han was no art expert, but he was pretty sure moss needed light and water and air, and two days in a pitch-black smuggling compartment while he waited to clear a planetary lockdown _definitely_ did not provide any of those.

A loud bang disrupted Han’s thoughts. He straightened up from his seat at the Falcon’s dejarik table and exchanged a glance at Chewie.

“Ship in port 396,” boomed a loudspeaker outside, “lower your boarding ramp and prepare for inspection.”

“ _Finally,”_ Chewie muttered in Shyriiwook. 

“Showtime.” Han agreed. He powered down the dejarik board. 

At the hatch, Chewie hit the controls while Han brushed his fingers through his hair in a vain last attempt to smooth it into respectability. The ramp lowered, and Han strode forward with his most disarming grin, thumbs hooked cockily into his belt above his holster.

“Hey, welcome.” Han said with false cheer. “We are so glad to -”

“Halt!” A stormtrooper commanded. A squad of ten gleaming white soldiers trained their rifles on Han’s shocked face. “Hands up and come down slowly!”

“Woah!” Han warily threw his hands above his head, eyeing the sea of BlasTech E-ll muzzles pointed his way. “Easy there now.”

The squad commander, a sergeant and the only trooper not aiming to vaporize Han, beckoned with one gloved hand. “Exit your ship and tell all crew to disembark for inspection.”

Han frowned. That was no good. If the goods were discovered, it was far easier to bribe officials in the privacy of a cargo hold - or blast your way to escape. “Now wait a minute, that’s _my_ ship. There’s no regulation that says I gotta let you pick through my cargo unsupervised.”

A trooper near the ramp stepped closer, nearly poking his rifle into Han’s temple. “Shut up, smartmouth. We make the regulations.”

Han edged away from the barrel, sweating. “Last I heard, Alderaan was still policed by it’s own Guard. Where’s the port inspector?”

“Alderaan is under martial law.” The sergeant cooly replied. “The House of Organa has been arrested for treason and all peacekeeping activities have been turned over to the Imperial Security Bureau. If you’d like to request the _personal supervision_ of an ISB officer, that can be arranged.”

 _Chuba._ Han thought. He plastered his grin back on. “No, no thank you. We will be fine.” He turned his head to shout back into the hatch. “Chewie! Chewie come down so these fine gentlemen can go about their work.”

Chewie growled a string of Shyriiwook curses as he ducked out from the hatch. Han took satisfaction in the way a few of the stormtoopers backed up nervously at the sight of an unchained Wookie. 

“ _That’s right you bastards.”_ Chewie grumbled as he marched down the ramp, coming to stand protectively beside Han. He rolled his shoulders intimidatingly and cracked his neck. “ _I rip up bucketheads like you for playtime.”_

“This is...?” The sergeant asked, eyeing the eight-foot behemoth. 

“My first mate.” Han replied tersely. “We’re the full crew.”

“Hmmmmm.” The sergeant grunted, somehow sounding both doubtful _and_ condescending. Chewie stiffened. Han put a calming hand on his pal’s arm, ready to de-escalate, but the sergeant was either oblivious or apathetic. The noncom held out his hand. “Manifest,” he demanded.

Han slowly pulled the manifest from his pocket, and passed it to the sergeant. 

The sergeant glanced at the datapad. He turned to signal for two of his men to pick up a piece of scanning equipment. They hovered it up the ramp, followed by the half of the remaining patrol. The sergeant brought up the rear.

Han bit his lip as he watched their armored white buttocks disappear into his ship. He shuffled for a bit, then leaned toward the nearest of the three guards. “Psst, hey. So...what is this lockdown _really_ about?”

“No talking.” Ordered the trooper.

Han drew back with a ‘hey now buddy’ expression. He turned his wounded gaze on Chewie. “I swear, doing business in Aldera gets worse and worse every year,” Han complained.

“I said _no talking.”_ The trooper ordered again.

“Sheesh.” Han muttered. He just wanted to work off some nerves. Couldn’t blame a guy for trying to pump for information.

The sergeant reappeared at the top of the ramp. “All clear,” he announced.

The soldiers around Han visibly relaxed. They lowered their weapons, though one looked like he was itching to keep it trained on Chewie. Han and Chewie stared as the inspection team hovered their gear out of the _Falcon_ and back onto the landing pad. 

The sergeant pressed Han’s manifest into Han’s chest rather roughly as he passed by. Han looked down at the manifest, then back up at the trooper. “Sooo...does this mean we’re free to go?” Han asked.

The sergeant put a hand to his helmet, as if listening to something on his comm. He looked back at Han, then waved to his men. “Back up, back up, form up for takeoff.”

“You’re kidding.” Han muttered. “You boys are gonna keep guns trained on us until we’re out of the atmosphere?”

The sergeant stared at Han. “Watch it,” he warned. “Or I’ll be tempted to arrest you just on principle.”

Han twisted his lips, itching to retort, but Chewie tugged on the hem of his jacket. Han swallowed his pride and settled for a sneer, following Chewie up the boarding ramp and out of trouble. 

He and Chewie settled into the cockpit and fired up the engines. As the Falcon lifted off, tilting up and away, Han couldn’t resist flicking off the sergeant through the window. Chewie swatted his hand down.

“Heyyyy.” Han whined. “We’re too far away, he can’t see anything.”

“ _Immature pup.”_ Chewie rolled his eyes.

“How do you know I wasn’t saluting Aldera _in general?”_

“ _Because you weren’t_.” Chewie huffed, though Han could tell he was secretly amused and trying not to show it. The wookie yanked the hyperspace lever with a vengeance. The stars stretched into long streaks, then snapped into swirling blue. 

Han let out a glorious sigh as the tension of the last two days melted away. Chewie shook his head silently. He engaged the autopilot and stood up.

“Yeah, good idea.” Han agreed, reading Chewie’s train of thought. “Better check on that moss thing.”

“ _P_ _ainting_ .” Chewie corrected patiently. “ _It's a moss painting, Han. Alderaan is famous for the craft. Even on Kashyyyk, Alderaani moss painting is renowned._ ”

Han followed Chewie out of the cockpit. “Yeah well, you’re from a tree planet so that makes sense. You ain’t been to Corellia. Trust me, the only green we’ve got left is industrial sludge.”

“ _And that is a tragedy_ ,” Chewie mourned. He knelt down in the corridor and popped a hidden latch in the decking. The metal plate jumped up a half-inch, and Chewie worked his fingers into the sliver, lifting the plate free. 

The first thing Han saw was the blessed green of vibrant, lush, very much alive moss. The second thing was a little girl in a white dress huddled next to the painting with her arms around her knees. Two bright bright brown eyes blinked up at him.

Han’s jaw opened and closed a few times before he found the right words - “ _You!_ ”. 

The girl flinched back. She opened her mouth, maybe in a denial, before reconsidering quickly. She stood stiffly to her full height, smoothed back her hair and tilted her chin haughtily. “I see my reputation precedes me.” Her bluster failed to cover the fact that her nose barely reached over the lip of the smuggling bin.

“You bet.” Han replied, stunned. “You’re the Organa girl. Your face is plastered all over the holonet. Aren’t you supposed to be arrested?”

The girl scowled. “I am under no _lawful_ arrest,’ she declared. “My people are under attack. The rightful rulers of Alderaan have been unjustly detained by the Empire. You _must_ take me to seek asylum with the Rebellion.”

Chewie yowled. 

“Fuck,” Han agreed.


	2. Two

Han was glad to be back in hyperspace and away from Tatooine. Jabba was his least favorite customer. Han delivered his karking moss painting just fine, but the slimy slug tried to slither out of paying full price claiming there was a _bruise._ Who knew moss could even bruise? And even if it did, wouldn’t it grow back? Wasn’t that the point of moss? 

Han walked into the main hold, intent on grabbing a shot of whisky. He stopped, flabbergasted. A tiny white-clad girl with a crown of prim Alderaanian braids sat at his dejarik table like it was her personal throne. 

“You again,” Han said flatly. 

“Greetings, Captain Solo,” replied the Princess, regally.

Han’s gaze slid towards Princess’ Leia’s dejarik partner. A sandy-haired boy dressed like a moisture farmer fidgeted guiltily with the holoprojector controls. “And you’ve multiplied,” Han noted.

“You will take us both to the Rebellion.” Princess Leia demanded lacing her fingers together over the dejarik table. “I promise you will be handsomely rewarded.”

“Uh-uh sweetheart.” Han immediately rejected. “ You already made that offer, right before you ditched me and Chewie at Mos Eisley.”

Leia frowned. “I asked you to change course directly to Dantooine. You insisted on landing on Tatooine instead. How could I trust you not to turn me in?”

“Look, your worship,” Han groaned. “I had a job before you hijacked my ship. That painting woulda died if I detoured to Dantooine. My neck was on the line. Do you have any idea what Jabba the Hutt does to smugglers who fail their job?”

The boy next to Leia winced.

“See, your new friend gets it.” Han said, pointing at the farmer. “Who are you anyway, kid?”

Leia shifted closer to the boy as if to shield him. “That’s none of your -”

“I’m Luke Skywalker!” The boy piped up, oblivious. “I’m gonna be a pilot for the Rebellion.”

Han raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are kid, just like your old man Anakin,” he snarked.

Luke’s blue eyes grew wide. “You knew my father?”

Han paused. “What?”

The boy at the table grew shy. “My father. Anakin Skywalker. You knew him?”

Han shook his head to clear it. There was clearly a communication gap here. “That was a joke, kid. Are you trying to claim your dad was _the_ General Anakin Skywalker? The Hero With No Fear?”

“Umm, no,” the boy fidgeted. “My father was a navigator on a spice freighter. Like this one. You didn’t know him? I bet he did the Tatooine runs just like you.”

“Schutta, _please_ ,” Han pinched his brow. “You think because I’m a smuggler, I know every other smuggler in Mos Eisley?”

“Why not?” Luke asked innocently. “I mean, I know everyone in Anchorhead.”

 _Oh stars_ , Han thought. _This kid is gonna get eaten alive_. He shifted his attention back to the Princess, who was preoccupied with comforting Luke. Han cleared his throat. “Look, whatever. I ain’t got a time limit on this next run. I’ll drop outta hyperspace right now and change course, drop you both on Dantooine. But I better be paid _double_ , got that?”

Leia’s jaw dropped. “That’s not fair!”

Han crossed his arms, smirking. “Why not? There are two of you this time ain’t there. And what else are you gonna do? Shoulda thought of that before you snuck on board, huh? That’s why _reasonable_ people negotiate a charter _before_ they get onboard. Think of it as a stowaway fee."

Leia sniffed. “Well perhaps a _reasonable_ person would check his smuggling compartments _before_ he takes off. I swear it’s like you’re practically inviting us on board, Captain Solo.”


	3. Three

It was always a good day when you made money, even if it meant taking another job from that sleemo Jabba and his oily majordomo. Han tossed the credit pouch once in his hand, then retracted the boarding ramp and closed up the hatch. He turned around, and paused. His eyes fell on the metal decking over the smuggling compartments.

“Ah, what the hell.” Han muttered. He knelt down, popped the latch, and pried off the plate just to check. He locked eyes with a scraggly old man in hobo robes curled up at the bottom of the bin.

“Hello there,” the old man greeted calmly, lying on his back.

“Karking hells!” Han yelped, leaping back. “ _E chu ta_. Get off my ship!”

The old man sat up. “Hold on now, I’m sure we can resolve this amicably.”

Han drew his blaster. “CHEEEEWWWIIIEE?!!?” he shouted.

Chewie came barreling around the corner, bowcaster drawn and cocked. He leveled it expertly at the old man. 

“You got two seconds to talk me and my pal Chewie outta pumping you full of plasma bolts.” Han threatened. “Who are you and how did you get on my ship?”

The old man’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. Han’s finger tightened on his trigger. This geezer was off his rocker. Serenely, the old man settled into a cross-legged position.

“I’m just an old hermit, truly.” The old man began, “You can call me Ben. A few weeks ago, a young friend of mine ran away from home. A boy, about eleven. His aunt and uncle are very worried. They asked for my help in retrieving him.”

Han lowered his gun a fraction, surprised. “This kid, he a farmer? Blue eyes, blonde hair? Goes by the name ‘Luke Skywalker’”?

Old man Ben’s eyes lit up. “Why yes!”

“Well, I’ll save you some trouble,” Han said, exchanging glances with Chewie. He holstered his blaster and Chewie put down the bowcaster. “Your missing kid ran off to join a rebel cell. I just dropped him an’ his friend on Dantooine.”

“Fantastic!” Old Ben declared. “I would like to book passage to Dantooine then.”

Han gaped. “You - what? Now wait one minute you old coot. It don’t work like that. You can’t just sneak onto someone’s ship and then _demand_ they take you places.” Han looked at his wookie navigator, distraught. “I swear, Chewie, where are all these people coming from?”

“ _Alderaan and Tatooine_ ,” Chewie reminded Han, slyly. Han gave his pal a dirty look.

“Anyway, you’re getting off my ship.” Han gestured for the crazy hermit to get up. “Up, up, out you go!”

The old man made no move to get up. He reached into his grimy brown outer robe instead, fishing up one of his sleeves. “Hmmm, I know it’s in here somewhere - aha!” Triumphant, Old Ben produced a hard case from a hidden pocket. He flicked it open, and tugged on his greying auburn beard as he flipped through the contents: a stack of Imperial credits. Han’s eyes bugged out as he caught sight of some of the sums. 

Old Ben held up a handful of chips. “How is ten thousand? Half to be paid now, and half upon arrival.”

“Nine hells.” Han breathed. “If you’re carrying that much, why didn’t you just book a ship?”

Old Ben cleared his throat. He glanced away evasively in what on any other backwater desert hermit might be taken for shame. “I would prefer to avoid certain _attention._ I may have made a few enemies during a rather exuberant youth, you see. I trust an extra 2,000 on top will buy your utmost discretion?”

Han’s mood immediately lifted. “For 12,000? You got it, gramps.”

“Excellent.” Old Ben clapped. He rose to his feet with surprising grace. He pocketed half the credits, and extended a hand with the rest. Han swiped them from the hermit’s fingers, then stepped over the smuggling bin, whistling. Behind him, Old Ben stood frozen with his hand still extended. Chewie shook his head, bemused. The wookie reached down and helped pull the old man out.

Han flounced into the Captain’s seat, adding his new shineys to his credit pouch and thinking of the modifications this could buy him for the _Falcon’s_ sublight engines. Chewie ducked into the cockpit a moment later. The wookie sat in the co-pilot’s chair for a moment, then swiveled towards Han.

“ _Han_ ,” He murmured, leaning in. “ _Remember how that kid said his dad was Anakin Skywalker_?”

Han glanced up, “Yeah, what of it?”

“ _Han…_ ” Chewie said seriously. “ _I think that’s General Kenobi.”_

Han bolted upright. “The Negotiator???” 

Taking in his best friend’s deadpan look, Han leapt to his feet and bolted out of the cockpit. He rushed back into the main hold. As he rounded the corner, skidding, he grabbed the door frame to support himself, looking for Old Ben.

The hermit was rummaging through his cupboards, scratching at his thinning beard. “Ah, good, there you are. Do you happen to have any tea?”


	4. Four

When Han dumped their maybe-Negotiator, definitely-Needed-Bathing on Dantooine, he was almost sad to see the could-be celebrity go. Almost, because the bounty on the real Obi-Wan Kenobi’s head was astronomical. Sad, because when Han checked his stores later, he discovered that the crazy hermit had drank him clean out of both tea _and_ his best brandy.

If he ever ran into that guy again, Han swore to stick him with a bill. So it caught his ear on Nar Shaddaa four months down the road when a new client dropped some _very_ interesting news. 

“...an’ so there’s supposed to be some kinda ‘Rebel Alliance’ now,” Han muttered to Chewie as they walked along an acid-pitted walkway in the Corellian Sector. It looked so much like home Han was feeling a little fuzzy inside. “Buncha deluded fools. But here’s the thing the Imps wanna keep out of the news: this Alliance teamed up two weeks back to take out some kinda super secret superweapon. A battlestation or something that blows up planets. They’re calling it the Death Star.”

“ _The Death Star…”_ Chewie rumbled. “ _And that’s what_ really _happened to Geonosis?_ ”

“That’s the word on the street.” Han shrugged. “Or at least, that what that sap of a Rodian _wants_ to be the underground official. Offered me twenty credits to help spread his gospel.”

Chewie looked at Han incredulously. “ _And you took his money?_ ”

“Yup. Total greenhorn.” Han patted the money pouch tucked securely inside his jacket. “My twenty credits bets he’ll be dead within the week.”

Chewie made a mournful sound. Han gave him the side-eye.

“Well you ain’t even heard the best part yet.” Han teased as he keyed in the code for their docking bay. “This isn’t from the Rodian. This is grade-A, actual juice. Remember the sand hick we dropped on Dantooine? The one the crazy hermit was after? I hear the pilot who fired the final shot was _an eleven year old boy._ Sound familiar? _”_

“ _No…”_ Chewie gasped in disbelief and some dismay. “ _No no no no…_ ”

“Oh yes!” Han crowed. “Who else could it be? It’s that kid Luke, I tell you! Luke, ‘My dad was the _other_ Anakin Skywalker.’ Makes ya start to wonder if he really _was_ Anakin Skywalker’s son, eh Chewie?”

Chewie shook his head sadly as Han cackled. “ _You know pup, back in the Clone Wars I -”_

Han’s laughter died abruptly. He flung out an arm, blocking Chewie. “Wait. Did you leave the Falcon’s ramp down?”

Chewie went stiff. They stared at the lowered ramp. Both of them reached for their weapons just in time for the blasters to go tumbling through the air and disappear in the darkness beyond the Falcon’s hatch. The unmistakable sound of heavy mechanical breathing filled the landing bay. 

Darth Vader stepped into view, filling the hatch with his sweeping cloak and the ruby glow of a lit lightsaber. “Smuggler scum,” he declared from his high ground. “You will tell me where you took the traitor Obi-Wan Kenobi...” 

Vader paused. 

“And you will tell me about this ’ _Anakin Skywalker’s son.”_

Chewie yowled.

“Yeah. Double fuck.” Han agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _ Tell me again how we got here, pup. _ ” Chewie growled at Han, bent over double beneath a durasteel I-beam.

“I reaaaallly don’t wanna think about it, pal.” Han grit through clenched teeth. When he woke up today, hiding in a maintenance shaft onboard the flagship Devastator was not where Han thought he’d end up in the afternoon. Not nearly enough booze. He kicked at Chewie’s leg. “Could you move over just a few inches?”

Chewie snarled and pushed back. Han’s blaster dug into his hip and he hissed.

“ _ Oh! Sorry Han. _ ” Chewie immediately apologized. He reached a matted paw out and gingerly tugged on Han’s tunic to check the lightsaber burn on Han’s side.

Han swatted Chewie’s hand away. “Don’t touch it! Stars, just needs some bacta. I’ve had worse.”

Chewie stiffened. “ _ Hush!”  _ He put a claw to his lips and cocked his head, listening. A series of chittering beeps grew louder in the corridor outside.

Their eyes met, fully synched.

Han stepped over Chewie’s big hairy leg and clambered up the I-beam. He hoisted himself onto a ledge by his elbows, painfully contorting his neck to peer through a loosened ventilation grate. 

As Han watched, an Imperial mouse droid weaved down the corridor. Han tensed, attention fixed on the stupid little thing as it skittered closer. Ankle-biters, they used to call them in the corps. Han flexed his fingers. 

_ Come on, come on you little trip hazard.  _ He silently baited. 

The little droid swerved towards the maintenance shaft to avoid a trio of chatting ensigns. Faster than thought, Han’s hand shot through the grate and seized the mechanical mouse. He muffled its electronic squeal with his palm and dragged the struggling device into the darkness, swiftly replacing the grate.

One of the ensigns paused. “Did you hear something?”

Her fellows looked around. One of them shrugged. “Not particularly,” he said. 

“Huh, forget it then.” she dismissed. “I think someone up the hall kicked a mouse droid again.”

“Ridiculous vermin.” The man agreed.

In the shaft, Han slowly edged away from the grate as he watched the polished boots retreat. He shimmied back down the I-beat with his prize. Chewie steadied him on the final drop, and Han landed without a sound.

“You sure you know what you’re doing with this?” Han asked in a low voice as he passed the silenced droid over.

Chewie rolled his eyes. He flipped the droid on it’s back, popped the casing in with one long claw, and deftly plucked a single wire. The droid deactivated.. 

Han held up his hands. “Alright alright. I’ve just never seen you slice is all.”

“ _ How do you think I keep the Falcon running? I’m two hundred years old, pup.”  _ Chewie reminded as he settled in with the droid and Han’s datapad. “ _ You pick up things.” _

Han propped his chin on his fist. “Well gee, don’t you giants have it nice.”

“ _ Don’t be misled. My people were the finest engineers in the mid-rim. Still are, Empire be blighted. We only chose to live simply and subtly.” _

“I know…” Han murmured softly. 

They fell into companionable silence, until Chewie’s hands suddenly stilled. Han perked up.

“You done? We ready to send this thing out after the ship orders yet? ‘Cause I for one do not want to want to find myself crawling out onto an Imp dock at our next stop.”

Chewie looked at Han, surprise evident. “ _ Even better. This thing was carrying an updated manifest for cargo bays two through six.” _

Han waited for the punchline. “Aaand…?

_ “They brought the Millennium Falcon on board. It’s in Cargo Bay 4.” _

Han bolted upright. “You’re  _ kidding.  _ Why??”

“ _ No idea,”  _ Chewie barked. He waved the inert droid. “ _ It’s just a manifest. But…” _

“...We haven’t left Nar Shaddaa. No wonder this bucket hasn’t already jumped. Chewie, you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“ _ Pup, you know I am.”  _ Chewie grinned.

“Ha-ha!” Han cackled. “It will be chaos when we break our way out! There’s no way they’ll get us back, not around the Smuggler’s Moon.”

“ _ IF we can break out _ .” Chewie cautioned responsibly, though Han could see the gleam in his eye.

Han raised his fist to his lips and thought deeply, mind racing through long-forgotten deck layouts from his brief misadventure in Imperial service. “We’re on deck sixteen, somewhere around the secondary ground support storage. Cargo Bay four should be two decks up and just to the fore.”

“ _ Can we get there through the maintenance shaft?”  _ Chewie wondered, peering up the I-beam into the darkness.

Han shook his head. “No idea, I’m a flight school washout, not a technician. I have no idea where all of these connect.” Han perked up. He smacked his fist into his palm in triumph. “I got it! We lift armor and some binders and pretend you’re a prisoner.”

“ _ No,” _ Chewie said flatly.

“Aw come on, it’s perfect.” Han objected. “None of these clowns’ll think twice about a Wookie in cuffs.”

Chewie yowled. “ _ I am never, and I mean never, wearing binders again.” _

“It’s the only way.” Han reasoned. “I don’t like it either, Chewie. You think I wanna get back in one of those bucket--mmmph!?”

Chewie gagged Han and pulled him close, shrinking back against the I-beam. A beam of light swept the ground where Han was just standing.

“ _ I’ve got a better plan.”  _ Chewie murmured, as a man in a pale grey jumpsuit and orange mechanic’s harness rounded the corner. 

Then maintenance tech’s eyes went round. “Hey! Who are you!”

Chewie pounced, clubbing the man over the head as they dropped to the floor. Han stumbled, catching himself on the I-beam. He flinched as Chewie tossed the man’s harness at him, fumbling to catch it. He held it up in the dim glow of the dropped flashlight.

“ _ Strip _ .” Chewie commanded, unzipping his unconscious victim.

Han winced. “This is gonna be a little small on me, you know.”

“ _ Stop whining _ .” Chewie balled up the man’s jumpsuit and threw it.

Han gagged as a pant leg slapped him in the face. “Yes,  _ dad _ .”

Ten minutes later Han was disguised as a mechanic, pushing a large cart down the Devastator’s stark white corridors. Chewie growled as she shifted uncomfortably inside the cart. Han kicked it, smiling genially as he passed a TIE pilot giving him a suspicious stare.

“Oh, can it, you big wuss.” Han hissed as soon as they were clear. “This was your plan, remember?”

“ _ I’m rethinking the binders.”  _ Chewie muttered. He shifted again, throwing off the repulsors and sending the cart careening left.

“Stop that.” Han said, steadying the handles. He glanced down at the cart’s boxy coffin-like lid. “Whatever happened to  _ dignity,  _ huh? Or whatever you were calling it?”

“ _ There’s no room in this cart for it _ .” Chewie glowered. “ _ Or maybe it died with all the feeling in my legs? _ ”

Han kicked the cart again as an off-duty stormtrooper passed. He stopped at a door, and swiped it open with a stolen code cylinder. Han pushed the cart through and nodded at everyone in the room.

_ Nothing to see here folks,  _ Han thought nervously, gliding his cart along the control deck.  _ Just your friendly neighborhood maintenance man, dropping by to sabotage your cargo bay doors. _

He paused, however, at the sight outside the observation windows. There she was, his beautiful Falcon. But man, this cargo bay was stocked with some snazzy ships. Was that a vintage Nubian star skiff? Han realized, guiltily, that the Falcon had gotten even dingier since he first won her. He needed to get her detailed and pick out some of that carbon scoring.

He tore his gaze from the view. No time to admire the hardware. He pulled a hydrospanner from his pocket and got to work in a corner, trying to look inconspicuous as he first unscrewed a side panel from an open control station, then plugged in a massive data probe. Han bent down and surreptitiously popped open the equipment cart. He fed Chewie the other end of the cable, then slammed down the lid before anyone could get a peek inside.

_ Nine hells I hope this works _ . Han thought as the minutes crawled by. Chewie’s ‘just-picked-it-up’ slicing skills better be enough to break those cargo bay doors, and keep then busted long enough for an escape. Walk into any backwater bar from here to Nevarro and ask for a slicer, and you’d be dogpiled under drunkards hoping to score a flagon of spotchke. Nine out of ten couldn’t slice their way out of a bag with a vibroblade. That’s what professionals and astromechs were for.   
  
The control deck doors slid open. A Lieutenant in crisp black walked into the room. His eyes landed on Han almost immediately. 

“Who are you and why are you in a restricted area?” The officer snapped. 

Han jumped nervously. “I’m uhhh...I’m a technician. I’m repairing this, um, this console right here. Sir.”   
  
The officer sneered. “I can see that. I wasn’t notified of any malfunctions. What is your designation and where are your orders?”   


Han tried to think fast. He pulled out his stolen Imperial data pad and started walking towards the officer. “Paperwork’s all in order sir. Let me show you -” 

Han was spared from further bluffing because the lights sparked out and red, flashing alarms started to blare. He and the officer both looked at the strobing alarm, then back at each other.

“Karblast.” Han said. He punched the officer in the nose, then body-checked him into the wall as he ripped the man’s blaster from his hip. Han whirled around and gunned down every trooper and engineer he could reach. He turned back and fired six blasts at the door, turning the control panel into slag. As Han turned back again, he caught Chewie mopping up the stragglers, his abandoned equipment cart in plasteel splinters. 

“ _ Damn pup!”  _ Chewie cursed, looking at the jammed door. “ _ Did you have to do it like that? Now they know it’s an attack.” _

“Me?!” Han shouted, outraged. “ _ Me!?  _ Your master slicing just set off one hell of an alarm! The whole ship knows where we are already!”

“ _ For all they knew it could be a malfunction!”  _ Chewie defended.

Han didn’t have the energy to argue more. “Just move it! We’re gonna have company real quick!” 

Chewie grabbed a gleaming black chair. He hoisted it over his head and smashed the observation window. Chewie bailed through the jagged glass and Han followed him, taking the two-floor drop with a yelp and trying not to cut himself as he rolled to his feet in the debris. He re-oriented and easily spotted the Falcon among the gleaming vintage starfighters.

“There!” Han pointed. He and Chewie started to race across the cargo bay, skirting thej jammed loading doors and the open maw of space. As they ran, a hatch opened high up the wall and stormtroopers poured onto a narrow catwalk ringing the hold, raining blaster fire.

“ _ Why are there so many mothballed Nubians?”  _ Chewie yelled, dodging a bolt that hit a yellow N-1 from Naboo.

“I don’t know Chewie,” Han sniped back as he returned fire. “Not a good time!” The blaster clicked empty, completely drained of Tibanna. Han tossed the useless thing, cursing no-nothing parade officers who don’t keep their weapons charged. He and Chewie slid to safety under the belly of the Falcon.

“Openitopenitopenit.” Han chanted, pulling flat against a landing strut after a red bolt singed his boots. His side ached and he dreaded looking down for fear that the massive scab over his hip had split. Chewie pounded at the manual hatch controls while Han tried to control his breathing. The boarding ramp blessedly descended. Han leapt ahead before it even touched ground, sprinting for the cockpit. 

“ _ Got it! Go! Go! _ ” Chewie shouted. 

Han skidded to a halt. Darth Vader stood in the Falcon’s main hold, his black hulk casting a long shadow over the lounge as he caressed the dejarik table. 

“A son…” Vader murmured, seemingly oblivious to the chaos outside. “Our son sat here.”

Han’s addled brain served up a single thought:  _ He’s still on my kriffing ship? _

Vader stiffened, then turned. Han panicked as Vader’s lightsaber appeared in the black lord’s hand. He fumbled for the first tool in his harness. His fingers closed on an electrical probe. 

“Yahhh!” Han cried as he flung out the probe and lunged at Vader’s chest like a suicidal maniac. The probe lit up with an electrical blue shower of sparks as it jammed into Vader’s control box.

BBZZZT~ 

Vader stiffened, then dropped to the ground with a sizzle.

Han stared at dark lord’s smoking robotic heap in awe. Chewie rounded the corner and slammed into Han’s back.

“ _ What the?”  _ Chewie sputtered, equally flabbergasted by the sight as he steadied Han.

“I think I just killed Darth Vader.” Han replied absently. The probe in Vader’s chest box sparked as if agreeing. The sound of angry troopers arriving on the floor of the storage bay snapped Han out of his reverie. He sprinted toward the cockpit, shouting over his shoulder. “Deal with that, would ya Chewie?” 

Chewie yowled in assent. Han threw himself into the pilot seat and raced through the launch sequence.

“Baby don’t let me down now.” Han muttered, ignoring the new wave of pain in his side. The Falcon roused to his call. Lights flickered as the ship came to life beneath his hands. The repulsors sputtered, briefly sending a jolt of icy panic through Han’s veins, before they stabilized and engaged. The primary shields flickered to life and Han felt more than heard Chewie engage the quad laser cannon up in the gun turret and start returning fire. 

“Yeahoo!” Han whooped as he blasted off under Chewie’s cover fire. He rolled and dove immediately for Nar Shaddaa space traffic. A swarm of TIE fighters scrambled to intercept him, but Han blew past and slipped into a major supply corridor. A stray blast from a TIE fighter hit a pleasure barge with Black Sun markings and the entire corridor immediately erupted in a firefight. 

Han smirked at the colorful blaze. He wished the Empire luck working  _ that  _ out with the Hutts. He skillfully dropped out of the lane and yanked the hyperspace lever. He finally relaxed once the soothing waves of hyperspace washed over the ship. 

“Great shooting, Chewie.” Han greeted as soon as Chewie squeezed into the cockpit. “That was a helluva ride.”

“ _ Where are we headed?”  _ Chewie asked as he started running diagnostics to tally up the battle damage.

Han checked the navicomp. “I didn’t have much time for calculation, so Dandoran seemed like a good bet.”

“ _ Dandoran…” _ Chewie mused. “ _ I like the Varsa Meadows on the city outskirts. We should go.” _

The Falcon suddenly shuddered and jolted. Emergency lights flickered as the ship abruptly reverted to realspace with a whine. Chewie and Han exchanged alarmed looks.

“ _ Pup, you didn’t program in a randomized reversion to shake off pursuit did you? _ ” Chewie asked hopefully.

“No no no no.” Han muttered, desperately flipping switches. “No, please  _ no _ . We do  _ not _ have the supplies to be stuck dead out in the middle of nowhere.”

“ _ Diagnostics are showing massive systems failure. Something must have gotten us before the shields came up _ .  _ It fried everything. _ ”

“Well start with the hyperdrive, Chewie.” Han growled, still flipping switches. He banged a palm on the consol. “Damit! I knew I should have...”

Han’s words died in his mouth as Darth Vader stumbled into the cockpit, smoking. Han screamed. Vader held out an unsteady gloved fist and Han’s scream transformed into a gurgle. Chewie lurched to his feet, but was slammed back against the bulkhead by an invisible power.

Han scrabbled uselessly at his throat. He locked eyes at Chewie over Vader’s wobbling, smoldering helmet. “Why...is...Darth...still...on...my...ship? Told...you...deal...with it.”

Chewie gasped for air. “ _ I thought...you were...talking about...the troopers! _ ”

“ENOUGH!” Vader boomed, tightening his grip. Black spots started to close in on Han’s vision, and he thrashed violently. Han refused to go out this way. Vader began to squeeze more violently. Han’s flailing limb accidently hit the comm switch. 

A call connected with a loud  _ click. _

_ Out here?  _ Han’s dying brain thought incredulously.  _ There’s another ship out here? _

Vader paused. Everyone froze as their eyes landed on the comm.


End file.
